


hold me now

by kitseybarbours



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Coming In Pants, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Talk, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Menstrual Sex, Menstruation, Period Sex, Pre-Canon, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Vaginal Fingering, cis tim stoker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:34:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25944430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitseybarbours/pseuds/kitseybarbours
Summary: Martin’s got cramps. He enlists Tim to help him out.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 20
Kudos: 115





	hold me now

**Author's Note:**

> EDITED 17/08/20 in response to some very helpful feedback about dysphoria and terminology. Words now used for Martin’s genitalia are ‘cock,’ ‘mound,’ and ‘slit,’ and the issue of dysphoria as it pertains to period sex has been explicitly addressed. Many thanks to [Againstme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Againstme) and [vvertigo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vvertigo) for their honesty; I sincerely apologise for any discomfort the original version caused.

* * *

It’s a Saturday afternoon, grey and cloudy, and Tim and Martin are sprawled on Martin’s couch. With his head resting in Tim’s lap and a hot-water bottle pressed firmly to his pelvis, Martin lets out a long-suffering sigh.

Tim laughs, petting his hair. ‘How ya doin’ there, love?’

‘Not good,’ Martin groans. ‘First-day cramps are a nightmare from hell.’

‘D’you need paracetamol?’

‘I’ve taken two already.’ Martin looks up at him with puppy-dog eyes. ‘Tiiiim. It huuuurts.’

‘Poor sweetheart.’ Tim bends to brush a kiss to his mouth. ‘What else would help? Some chocolate? Ice cream? A different film?’

They’ve missed most of the one playing on Martin’s laptop now, Martin distracted by his cramps and Tim distracted by, well, Martin. It was Martin who’d called him up and asked him to come over; he was bored and lonely and on his period, he said, and wanted someone to cuddle. Tim has never said no to that—especially not when it’s Martin asking.

He’s so sweet like this, with his big tits and fat tummy soft under a loose T-shirt, relaxed and binderless; he’s gone floppy in Tim’s lap, his curls in his eyes and his full mouth almost pouting. But Tim isn’t fooled: Martin’s a dom through and through, and Tim has a strong feeling he’s laying the sweetness on thick for a reason.

Martin shakes his head, which is definitely an interesting sensation, considering the proximity of said head to Tim’s crotch. ‘I don’t wanna watch anything anymore. I just want to stop _hurting.’_

‘Well, what’s it gonna take, love? I’m a cis idiot with no sisters,’ Tim reminds him. ‘You’re the expert here.’

‘I’ve tried everything,’ Martin sighs dramatically—and then, Tim swears, he pauses for effect. ‘Well, except…’

‘Except?’ Tim grins down at him.

‘Mmm. You could finger me,’ Martin suggests, closing his eyes demurely and stretching in Tim’s lap. ‘That might help.’

‘How long have you been sitting on that one, hm?’

‘Oh, just since I called you.’

‘Are you suggesting that you’ve been planning to _use me_ for my _body_ all this time?’ Tim presses a hand to his chest, affronted. ‘Martin, you’re a man after my own heart.’

Martin laughs, his eyes crinkling up behind his glasses. ‘Is that a yes, then?’

As much as he wants to say yes immediately, Tim hesitates.

Even though it’s Martin who’s suggested it—implying at the very least that he’s comfortable with the idea—Tim wants to double-check. Martin’s talked to him about his dysphoria before, which is better now than it used to be but still flares up badly sometimes, not least when he’s menstruating. Tim can’t stand the idea that anything he does will inadvertently trigger it. ‘I mean, _yes,_ but I do have to ask, love,’ he says. ‘Are you sure you’ll be okay? Er, gender-wise and all that?’

‘I mean, there’s always a risk,’ Martin says frankly, giving a little shrug. ‘Especially, well, right now. But honestly, at this point I’m more interested in the pain-relieving properties of orgasms, you know? And, like—could I have just done that myself? Yes. Is it more fun when you’re here? _Also yes._ ’ He reaches for Tim’s hand and kisses it. ‘I’ll tap out if I need to. I promise.’

‘All right. I’ll hold you to that, you know.’

Martin smiles. ‘I know.’

Tim leans down to kiss him again, and Martin kisses back eagerly, his mouth warm and inviting. He wriggles to sit up so he’s facing Tim, straddling him, and Tim runs a hand up his back to twist into his hair, making Martin hum with pleasure against his mouth. Martin kisses him deeply, swiping his tongue between Tim’s lips, arching his neck to make Tim chase his mouth. He grinds down into Tim and soon enough they’re both breathing heavily; Tim’s jeans are beginning to feel uncomfortably tight. ‘Shall we get moving?’ he pants against Martin’s mouth.

‘Mm,’ Martin agrees. But he hesitates, reaching to palm his crotch through his joggers and then wincing. ‘You’re sure you’re not squeamish, right?’ he asks. ‘Because there’s kind of a lot of blood going on.’

Tim shrugs. ‘Not bothered. Hands are washable. So are mouths, for that matter,’ he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Martin grins. He pecks Tim’s cheek and clambers off him: ‘Hang on a mo, I’ll just fetch a towel.’

Tim takes the opportunity to unzip his jeans and adjust himself, feeling his cock responding. He can’t help himself; Martin is _so_ gorgeous, and the things they’ve gotten up to together have fed months’ worth of fantasies. They’re both down for pretty much anything, and Tim is quite confident that they’ve expanded each other’s horizons considerably since they first started hooking up. Tim closes his eyes and strokes his cock loosely, a smile coming to his face as he reminisces on some of their more memorable evenings together.

That’s how Martin finds him when he gets back, an old towel slung over one arm. He laughs: ‘Impatient, are we?’

‘Just thinking about how hot you are,’ Tim answers promptly. ‘Let’s get set up so I can tell you properly, yeah?’ He stands up, giving Martin room to spread out the towel and lie back.

Martin does so gratefully, wincing, and sticks a pillow under his knees to relieve his aching lower back. He adjusts the one underneath his neck and then looks up at Tim. ‘Can you undress me, please?’

‘On it,’ Tim says, kneeling on the couch. He eases Martin’s joggers down over his hips, followed by his briefs. The reusable pad snapped snugly into them is sticky with dark, brownish blood, and Martin’s mound is wet with it too. ‘Still not bothered?’ Martin asks, a touch of anxiety in his voice as he watches Tim intently.

Tim responds by dropping a kiss between his legs, smelling the thick scent of iron. ‘Not at all. You just relax, all right? I’m gonna take good care of you.’

He moves to lie down behind Martin, taking him in his arms again. Martin shifts so Tim can reach between his legs, and sighs as he relaxes into his embrace, pillowing his head on Tim’s shoulder and closing his eyes. ‘Feel better already,’ he murmurs drowsily.

‘We’re just getting started. It’s gonna get even better,’ Tim promises, and reaches down to rest his hand on him. Martin sighs and wriggles, extra-sensitive to even the lightest touch. Tim starts to stroke him gently, tracing his swollen lips and then parting them to run a finger over his cock, already standing out from its hood. There’s not much blood up here, but when Tim moves farther down to circle Martin’s slit, he can feel it, hot and slick. ‘Can’t tell if you’re wet or just bleeding,’ he teases. ‘Or both, maybe?’

‘Definitely both,’ Martin assures him, a lazy smile on his face. ‘And is that, I dunno, a torch in your pocket, or…?’

‘What can I say? You’re delicious like this,’ Tim says, leaning in to nuzzle his neck. ‘It’s not often that I get to see you all needy, you know. Usually that’s my job.’

‘Fair,’ Martin concedes. He gives an indulgent sigh as Tim strokes up and down, from his cock to his slit, spreading slick warmth all over. ‘Mm. Inside me, please.’

‘You’re sure?’ Tim knows being penetrated in the front is sensitive territory for Martin, even sometimes when he’s just getting himself off, but Martin nods vigorously against his chest.

‘I want it. I’m okay, Tim, I promise.’

‘All right, love. You got it.’ Tim angles his wrist so he can crook one finger and slide it inside of him. It goes easily, its passage smooth, and Martin hums with pleasure, shifting to take him in.

‘Fuck me,’ he requests, ‘don’t be so gentle.’

‘Ah, there’s the dom voice I know and love.’ Tim obeys happily, sliding a second finger inside of Martin and beginning to fuck him with intent. Martin moans, and squirms in Tim’s lap, his head tipping back in bliss. He brings one hand to his cock and starts to touch himself as Tim fingers him, letting soft needy sounds spill from his lips. ‘You’re so good,’ Tim tells him, low, ‘you’re so sweet like this. I love it when you need me. I wanna make you feel so good.’

‘Good to me,’ Martin murmurs, ‘you’re so good to me. Fuck me, Tim, fuck me harder.’

Tim plunges his fingers deeper still inside him, hitting the soft spot that makes Martin arch and moan. He’s so wet, with blood and slick, and the noises Tim’s fingers make as they thrust in and out of him are filthy. He’s fully hard by now, pressing firmly into the soft flesh of Martin’s thigh. He wonders if he could come like this, just from Martin squirming against him, just from the noises he’s making as Tim gets him off.

Martin seems to read his mind. He grinds his ass down onto Tim’s clothed cock, making Tim gasp. ‘Are you gonna come in your pants?’ Martin teases. ‘Are you that horny just getting me off? I don’t even need to touch you?’

‘More important question,’ breathes Tim, rocking his hips. ‘Are you gonna _let_ me come in my pants?’

‘Only if you’re good,’ Martin says with a grin.

Tim groans. ‘Tell me what you need,’ he begs. ‘Let me make you feel good, baby, let me give you what you need.’

‘D’you want to make me come?’ Martin asks, breathless, eyes closed, lips parted. ‘D’you want me to come for you?’

 _‘Yes,_ baby, yes, please.’

‘Mm.’ Martin rubs himself faster, harder, as Tim continues to finger him at a punishing pace. He starts trembling, his breaths coming soft and shallow, and then his back arches and he comes in luxuriant waves, moaning wordlessly and clenching around Tim’s fingers. ‘Oh, baby, baby, baby,’ he says, breathless, as his orgasm works through him, rich and slow. ‘Oh, baby, that’s so good. You’re so good to me.’

‘Martin, honey, sweetheart, baby,’ Tim groans, grinding his hips up against Martin’s ass. ‘I love making you come. I love the sounds you make. Oh, fuck, you’re so gorgeous, you’re so good.’

‘Are you gonna come for me now?’ Martin asks, his voice loose and lazy. ‘Gonna come in your pants like a good little slut?’

‘Oh, _fuck,’_ Tim moans, arching his hips one final time, his whole body jerking as he comes. He can feel the mess he’s making but he doesn’t care; maybe if he’s lucky Martin will lend him some fresh boxers, and maybe they’ll smell like him. ‘Fuck, baby, that was so good,’ he says, clasping Martin close as he comes down. ‘I didn’t wanna ask for anything—this was supposed to be for you—but _damn_ , that was a hell of a bonus.’

‘Let it never be said I don’t take good care of my subs.’

They lie there for a minute as their breath returns. When he can, Martin sits up, his limbs pleasantly shaky, and offers Tim the towel to wipe his hand. Once he does, Martin swipes it between his legs and then wiggles his briefs back over his hips. He sighs contentedly, grazing Tim’s cheek with the back of his hand. ‘I’m gonna go change my pad. Am I wrong to suspect you might need a change of underwear?’

‘You are not wrong in the slightest,’ Tim acknowledges. ‘Possibly also fresh trousers.’

Martin is halfway to the bathroom by now, but he calls over his shoulder, ‘D’you wanna just crash here? We can wash your stuff overnight.’

‘Oh, seriously?’

‘Sure, why not?’ Martin reappears after a moment, leaning against the doorway and running a hand through his curls. ‘You can help me out again if the cramps come back.’ He winks, or tries to, and Tim grins.

‘Glad to.’

‘Go on, go find some clean pants and PJs in my room,’ Martin instructs him. ‘And then we could cuddle some more?’

‘Ooh, yes, _please.’_ Tim does as he’s told, stopping in the bathroom to clean himself up a bit. He dresses in a pair of flannel pyjama trousers that are comfortably huge on him, stops in the kitchen to chuck his boxers, jeans, and the towel in the washer, and then rejoins Martin on the couch.

He’s scrolling through the movies on his hard drive; two steaming cups of tea rest on the coffee table. He smiles when he sees Tim, and holds out his arm. Tim goes, nestling into his side.

‘Feeling better?’ he asks, noticing that Martin’s got the hot-water bottle on his lap again.

‘Much,’ Martin confirms.

‘Glad to hear it.'

They relax into each other, Tim’s head on Martin’s shoulder, warm mug in his hand. The movie Martin chooses is one of his favourites, a period drama done in the nineties, Christian Bale and Robert Sean Leonard in soft-focus lighting and 1930s clothes. (‘So they’re in love, right?’ Tim had asked the first time they watched this, as the two of them broke out swing-dancing in a crowded club, potential Gestapo raids be damned. Martin had nodded: ‘Oh, yeah, they’re definitely in love.’)

Tim yawns. His mind is wandering; he’s glad Martin’s asked him to stay over, and he’s glad it’s Sunday tomorrow, he doesn’t feel like going back to work yet. _Work—_ his mind seizes on it, and he remembers he’s been meaning to ask Martin something:

‘Oh, hey, have you met the new guy yet? Jon something,’ he says sleepily. ‘Bout this tall. Long hair. Indian, maybe? Looks really annoyed all the time, but his voice is kinda sexy.’

‘He’s Pakistani,’ Martin corrects, blushing immediately. ‘Jonathan Sims. Yeah, we’ve, ah—we’ve met.’

‘Oh, _have_ you now,’ Tim says, nudging him in the ribs. ‘Mm, I know you love a tiny man. You could snap him in half, couldn’t you, huh? And you’ve already thought about doing it.’ He laughs, seeing Martin bury his face in his hands. ‘Ooh, you totally have! D’you have a _crush,_ baby? That’s so cute. _You’re_ so cute. I love this for you.’

‘Shut up, Tim,’ Martin says, but he’s smiling. ‘You know you’re the only one for me.’ He considers. ‘Well. Most of the time. Unless I meet someone at a party, or a club, or, like, in Tesco or whatever.’

‘Or Research, apparently.’

‘Okay, fine, you’re not the _only_ one,’ Martin says, rolling his eyes. ‘But you’re my favourite.’

‘For now.’ Tim wiggles his eyebrows.

Martin kisses him firmly, finally shutting him up. ‘Isn’t that enough?’

‘Oh, baby, you know it is.’

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> The title is, inexplicably, from the [Thompson Twins song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H9694K85Xc8). I’m on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/saintmontague); much love to those of my mutuals who enabled this fic! 💘


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